Rock & Rant-When I need to quickly rant about music.

I’m annoyed, confused and concerned. In case you hadn’t heard, actress Angela Bassett is directing a Whitney Houston biopic for Lifetime centralized on Houston’s marriage to Bobby Brown (I guess she wasn’t more than Bobby’s wife, but ok). I find this totally exploitive and violating. Bassett is supposed to have been a friend of Houston’s, and what does she do just 27 months after Houston’s tragic, sudden death? Make a movie bringing further attention to the most intrusively publicized area of Whitney’s personal life. Good job. How nice of you. For a moment I thought, “Well, maybe Angela wants to show the side of Whitney and Bobby she knew to counter the general negative perception,” but there’s honestly no need for that because Whitney very candidly gave the good, bad and ugly details in her last Oprah interview in 2009. Bassett said in a statement: “I feel a responsibility in the telling of their story.” Why? The story already came from the horse’s mouth. The fat lady has already sung, and it’s not like Brown is involved with the project to tell his side. “I’m beyond excited to have this opportunity to go behind the camera and into their world,” Bassett continued. I bet you are, Angie. What better way to make a splashy directorial debut (I could be wrong in my questioning, but we’ll see)? Who cares what this will unearth for Houston and Brown’s families, especially their young daughter, Bobbi Kristina. I’m sure the families would expect an outsider to do such a sensationalist thing, but a “friend?” “I told 'em it's no friends in the game, you ain't learned that yet?”- (Nicki Minaj, “Pills N’ Potions”)

Speaking of Ms. Minaj, entertainment blogs went ablaze when she released the cover art for her new single “Anaconda” (inset), in which she dons a string-thong and her entire buttocks is exposed. Minaj noted the fickle standards of when photos like hers are deemed “unacceptable,” posting pictures of Sports Illustrated covers that haven’t been condemned on her Instagram to address critics. That in itself is a valid discussion, but my primary concern with the artwork is that it feeds some of the very things that frustrate Minaj about being a woman in a male-dominated genre. In the world of rap, women are often reduced to be nothing more than sexual outlets. On multiple occasions, Minaj has expressed that it’s been an uphill battle to receive respect and be treated as an equal. The obvious focal point of the “Anaconda” cover is her butt—not her face, not the music; her butt is the star of the show. With an image similar to that of a hip-hop mixtape or party flyer featuring the “video girl” archetype, Minaj is objectifying herself and playing into the sexualized role they would prefer her to be in. I don’t know what the lesser of the two evils is: the “Anaconda” photo or her twerking and grinding in a video for a song called “Ass.” There might be a method to this particular madness of Nicki’s, but I’m thinking it was just an agent to continue the hype for her upcoming album, The Pink Print. I believe that Nicki’s direction, musically and branding-wise, is still in development and a work in progress. Until it’s settled, we’re going to continue to see confounding and illogical moves. From every angle, I don’t get it. Minaj seems bothered by the reaction, but I’m sure a reaction was the primary motivation for the photo being chosen. She gets aggravated when people ask her about her bum, but her bum is all out. *Throws hands in confusion*

Rock & Rant-When I need to quickly rant about music.

In November 2012, I did a “Rock&Rant” marking my observation that the genre of R&B as we knew it had fallen into a dangerous, uninspired extinction ozone, merely hinting at potential causes. I left the article open because I wanted to hear everyone else’s thoughts, but after reading “Why Has R&B Become So Misogynistic?”  by Vibe’s Michael Arceneaux and listening to the R&B farce that was Trey Songz’s  new album, Trigga (see my review here), I’m ready to name the culprit: hip-hop. Hip-hop music (inadvertently) killed R&B.

In the late 1990’s and early 2000’s, hip-hop was establishing itself as the pop music of America and began to leave its mark with other genres. Even country music had to get a taste (ex. Trace Adkins “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk”). Once hip-hop emerged (originating in the 1980’s), it wasn’t long before R&B was synonymous with it, mainly because of color-coding and racism. In spite of this, R&B long maintained its own distinction, but on the way to Oz, it got lost. Other genres that trendily attached hip-hop sustained their genesis and foundation, but mainstream R&B eventually allowed theirs to nearly collapse. These days, you almost can’t tell the difference between an R&B and hip-hop hit: every other song has a rap verse and, increasingly, the harder-driven rhythms, abrasive language and content, misogyny and incensed detachment often heard in hip-hop are becoming common threads in R&B; a genre once characterized by seductively smooth, bluesy and soulful sensuality. The shift I’m describing is lucidly exemplified on the aforementioned Trey Songz record. By the end of it, I yelled “This is not R&B!!” The definitive “I love you more than life itself,” “haven’t been able to sleep since you left” and “close the door and let’s revel in our passion” statements were replaced with  “These hoes going to do what they want…F*** them all the time, but you know I never wife them…I swear these hoes trifling (that’s not an affronting double standard at all),” “If you ain’t the type of b**** talking about relationships, hit me up on that late night s***,” “All we do is f***, drink and sleep” and violent sexual analogies. I thought R&B was supposed to be enticing. I thought R&B was the home of baby-makers, begging pleas, broken moments and wedding playlist jams.

R&B has died and its fan support is wavering because it has isolated its audience and forfeited its personality, charm and quality and become a watered down sub-genus of hip-hop. It’s unrecognizable. It doesn’t know what it is anymore. How can you speak when you have no voice? Some might argue that like any other genre, R&B has various stylistic periods and this is just another phase. The concerning difference, however, is that this phase has too much likeness to an already existing base. Strip it down and the only thing that makes it R&B is that it’s sung. As a fan, it bothers (and surprises) me that I can’t get through even a Kelly Rowland album without hearing multiple expletives, and it’s not even from a featured rapper! Charting top 5 songs have f*** right in the chorus. The sexual representations are tacky, impulsive and lack craft and wit. Sex is now a means to an individually hedonistic end. Further signifying the identity crisis is that even the modern break-offs are fairly bereft of R&B. The burgeoning “Alternative R&B” (AKA PBR&B and Futuristic R&B; ex. Frank Ocean) has thoughtful and tender lyrics, but no musical traits of “rhythm and blues,” and computerized and electronic effects. It’s arguably only branded as R&B because the artists are predominately black, which goes back to color-coding.

Don’t get me wrong, hip-hop has its value and I’m all for genre-mixing: it brings communities together and exposes people to styles they may not have listened to before. This outcome is most likely to occur though when there’s a balance and each side stays true to its defining basis. These “Hoes Ain’t Loyal.”

Just in case you hadn’t heard, the Disney Channel has launched a new-generation spin-off of the cherished 90’s sitcom Boy Meets World, with Ben Savage and Danielle Fishel in tow, reprising their roles (more original cast members are expected to make appearances). If you’re of a certain age, I doubt you’ll need a refresher (shout-out to the 80’s babies who were 90’s kids), but Boy was an ABC coming-of-age series about the awkward Cory Matthews (Savage), ironically like The Wonder Years, which starred Savage’s older brother, Fred (The Wonder Years cast recently reunited for DVD interviews). When the series concluded in 2000, Cory was a college student and married his eccentric childhood sweetheart, Topanga Lawrence (Fishel), who was on track to become a lawyer. Cory and Topanga now have 2 children in the reboot, Girl Meets World, which focuses on their 13-year-old daughter, Riley (Rowan Blanchard); although it would be totally crazy that Topanga would have a child smack in the middle of undergrad, especially when acquiring a law license/degree exceeds 4 years.

The Girl pilot premiered on June 27th, but I’m regrettably just now seeing it and after reading a barrage of reviews that made senseless comparisons and criticisms, I felt compelled to write my own. Off the steam of its parent show, Riley is in middle school and determined to have a stand-out personality, inspired by her unsupervised, insubordinate best friend, Maya (ala` Cory’s BFF Shawn Hunter). Riley fears she won’t make much of an impact on the world or meet her destiny playing it safe, so she tries to be more like the risk-taking Maya (Sabrina Carpenter). When Riley follows suit with Maya’s academic revolt, it causes conflict with her father, who is also their history teacher. In the fallout, Riley learns when to be rebellious for a cause and realizes that being herself is better for her and her friend.

Reviews for the 1st episode felt the need to overemphasize that the series was a “kid’s show” and not for the now-adults that grew up with Boy. I don’t understand. As if it’s not already apparent by the title, Girl Meets World was never promoted as focal-continuation of Cory and Topanga’s adult life. Furthermore, it’s an unreasonable expectation that a show with married adults who have children, no less on the Disney Channel and centered around a middle-schooler, wouldn’t be family-geared or child-friendly. This silly notation was also false advertising and inference. Although youngsters will likely enjoy it, it isn’t elementary-minded or slapstick. The dialogue is profoundly contemplative and mature; you end up repeatedly asking yourself “how old is Riley again?” Blanchard is small and baby-faced, but the words coming out of her mouth (along with her 15-year-old looking crush) confound you. Most impressive were scenes where Riley well-argues why she and Maya should remain friends, despite Maya insisting that she’s bad for her, anticipating that Cory will ultimately split them up. Another futile complaint was that it wasn’t like the original show. Connected spin-offs are to meet the challenge of maintaining legacy and making their own unique impression. Girl Meets World is nostalgically similar enough to Boy Meets World, while still having its own respectable personality. As Cory was, Riley’s 13 and straight-laced, but she’s much more assertive and fiery. Maya bends the rules and doesn’t have proper parental figures like Shawn, but she’s cooler, sharper and less arrogant. Cory’s a teacher who seeks to positively shape young minds like Mr. Feeny (who makes a sweet and touching cameo as Cory’s thoughts), but he’s less successful and goofy as he ever was. Minkus’ offspring , Farkle, is even in the mix, so lay off.

The Girl Meets World premiere was one of those rare, solid pilots that make you hope the following episodes stick with its gist (just add a little more Topanga). It was funny, endearing and had a strong moral that wasn’t campy. Girl Meets World airs Fridays at 8:30pm EST.

Album Review.
Overall: Ignorant, offensive and insincere trash pretending to impersonate R&B

Trey Songz has either forgotten who his audience is or is unsure about what audience he wants to target. He’s categorized as an R&B act and has a majority female following, but his new release Trigga is a polarizing sung version of a rap album that I doubt any self-respecting woman would enjoy. Mr. Songz has set out to win the award for Best Arrogant Prick in Stereo, boasting about having adulterous flings with other cheaters and singing about women as if their only use and purpose is to be disposable sexual blow up dolls (ex.“F*** ‘em all the time, but you know I never wife ‘em” from “Dead Wrong”), with an overkill of expletives and exclusively referring to men and women as “niggas and bitches.” This isn’t your average sexapalooza/player album; it doesn’t have half the finesse, cleverness and deceptive romanticism that helps such records get by with their questionable content. Trigga is flat-out ignorant. Just as Songz’s previous Chapter V, the album pretends to tell a reformative story where he loses his mate to his shenanigans, but there’s no real epiphany found in the lyrics and the loss part is so late in the game (track 10/17), it’s completely unconvincing, insincere and not fluid. It’s bad enough an album concept was recycled back-to-back, much less the execution failing for a 2nd time. Unlike the lyrics, the music is a tolerably proper, flowing and catchy union of hip-hop and R&B, but for a content-oriented listener like myself, it’s hard to focus on and/or appreciate when offensive and degrading lines are penetrating my ears.

There’s so much irony surrounding Trigga. Usually when a song single or album performs commercially well, the artist will quickly find themselves in a cycle of having to recreate the same thing over and over. After the success of 2009’s Ready, Songz was expected to keep churning out sexual material, but it wouldn’t be a total loss because Ready was a stable, levelheaded effort. I even said in my review that Songz had the potential to help R&B get back on its feet. However, Songz was allowed, or pushed, by record executives to deviate further and further away from the workable launching pad that made him a chart star. Recreation would’ve actually worked musically and commercially in that case, but alas, here Songz is: instead of giving us capable R&B, Trigga is indicative of how and why R&B died. It’s such an atrocity, that it’s insulting it samples Teena Marie (“Na Na” uses “Ooh La La La”) and nods to Monica’s “One of Them Days” (i.e. “Change Your Mind”). This all definitely makes the classy and somewhat symbolic album cover art laughable. The last irony? It seems that when an album is enjoyable or qualitative, it’s only about 11 tracks long, but when it isn’t worth the time, you get 17.

Album Review.
Likes: Get Her Back, Lock the Door, The Opposite of Me, Forever Love
Dislikes: Tippy Toes
Overall: Heartfelt as usual with a vintage vibe; not the most affecting though

Actress Paula Patton has always been the inspiration for the records of her singer-songwriter husband, Robin Thicke, but this time she inspires from a different place: Patton filed for legal separation in February after almost 10 years of marriage. Thicke airs his pleading wounds of regret and sorrow on his 7th album, fittingly titled Paula. Representative of Thicke’s writing skills, the lyrics are literal enough to where you can clearly visualize the events described, but they’re still figurative and store elusiveness (ex. “Black Tar Cloud”). Thicke berates himself as neglectful, self-sabotaging, greedy and inherently inadequate and Paula as the only source of balance, as he both walks down a sunny memory lane and looks at the current disaster. The production is scaled back and isn’t as crisp, slightly giving the essence of a raw rehearsal or jam-session recording, augmented by bluesiness and 1950’s-like rhythms (ex. “Love Can Grow Back,” “Tippy Toes,” “Time of Your Life”). Thicke’s vocals are just as unfiltered; there’s more gravel and listlessness and less of his trademark smooth falsetto. Incongruously, there’s a certain emotional weight missing, leaving you to only sympathize, but not empathize. You can sense he’s panged, but Paula doesn’t leave you bawling or ruminating on your own life. Maybe it’s because the music isn’t arresting as a whole. I banged my head to the funk of “Living in New York City” and felt pretty depressed listening to “Forever Love,” but as I said, comprehensively speaking, I wasn’t knocked down. My strongest dislike was the cheesy, plastic, karaoke-sounding background vocals. Mentioning that might seem silly, but it was so distracting and annoying to me. Oh and what’s Robin’s thing with Latin-flavored music? It seems there’s always at least one track like that on every album. Does one of his parents have a Latin background? I’m not mad, I’m just curious. Anyway, what’s best about Robin Thicke-his soulful delivery, musicality and from the heart content-is present on Paula, so if you’re coming for that, you’re good. If you’re coming for songs to cry to or that you can’t get out of your head, things might not work out for you.